


Stripped and Stranded

by the_random_writer



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Crack, M/M, Public Nudity, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: Zane accidentally locks himself out of the house in less than ideal circumstances.A sequel of sorts to my earlier ficThe Box of Delights





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for mahmah-tee, who provided the idea for the story when I was struggling with writer's block. Thank you!!!

Zane was _never_ taking a bath again. 

He should have stuck to his original plan and gone for a goddamn shower instead. 

If he'd gone for a shower (or hell, even just waited for the water to cool) he would never have overheated to the point of breaking out in a sweat. Would never have slowly wandered downstairs to stroll about the house in a towel. Would never have opened the door that led out back in a vain attempt to cool himself down. Would never have heard the goddamn squirrel rifling through the vegetable garden he and Ty had lovingly planted only a couple of weeks before. Would never have thundered out the back door to chase the thieving squirrel away. Would never have yanked the back door open with so much force it bounced off the cupboard behind it and swung violently back into his ass, startling him so much he lost his balance and stumbled awkwardly down the stairs.

By some tiny, wonderful stroke of luck, he'd managed to remain on his feet and not end up on his ass or his knees. That minuscule amount of luck had very rapidly proved to be all the Gods were willing to give. A corner of his towel had caught in the door, so as he'd stumbled, his covering had been pulled away, leaving his jumbo sausage and roast potatoes flapping inelegantly in the wind.

His initial reaction had been to laugh. After all, it wasn't every week of the year you ended up naked in your back garden trying to murder a bastard squirrel at seven o'clock on a Wednesday night. The laughter had faded to wails and tears as soon as he'd turned back to the door. In his rush to thoroughly kick the twitchy, greedy intruder's ass, he'd forgotten to put the lock on the snib.

He'd shut himself out of the goddamn house.

Stark naked. In the dark. On the one goddamn night of the week when Ty was working late at the store. In the one goddamn week of the year when the neighbours they liked and who wouldn't respond by shooting at him or calling the cops had gone on a Caribbean cruise.

So here he was, sitting on a freezing cold step, wearing nothing but a three-day-old beard, his watch and a smile, desperately trying to figure out how the fuck to get back inside.

Ty was only a few blocks away, but he was overseeing an author reading and signing session, so he wouldn't be home for at least an hour. Surely he could survive out here until his husband returned? Some of his more delicate parts had already gone into full retreat, but they wouldn't suffer any permanent damage, and would quickly emerge from their hiding place as soon as he donned a warm pair of pants. At least, Zane assumed they would. The way his aging body was behaving these days, a return to normal operations was by no means guaranteed.

Unfortunately, waiting for Ty might be the only solution. His phone was on the living room shelf, so he couldn't call or message for help. The front door of the house might not be locked, but the two of them lived in a terraced row, with no access to the street from the rear. To try that solution, he would have to go out the back gate, walk all the way to the end of the alley, then round the bottom of the block and all the way up the road at the front. Easy when you were fully clothed—not so easy when you were totally nude.

"Think, Garrett," Zane exhorted himself. "How do you get back into the house? Or if you can't get back into the house, how do you at least get the towel out of the door?"

He could and would walk round to the front in a towel. Hell, if push came to shove, he would walk all the way to the store. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but the streets would be quiet at this time of night, and the towel was generous enough that even if he attracted attention, he wouldn't be arrested for indecent exposure.

He stood up, turned around, braced one leg against the step and gave the generous item in question another hearty pull. It didn't move; it was wedged in tight. 

 _Fuck_.

A lightbulb switched on in his head. He couldn't get back into the house, but what about the detached garage? Among other things, the garage contained a box of tools, and the box contained a retractable knife. A very sharp retractable knife that could easily slice through a cotton towel. If he could find it, he could cut the offending corner away. There should be more than enough of the towel left to keep him legally in the clear while he executed his Walk of Shame.

Yeah, that could totally work. 

There was only one problem with his plan: the door to the garage was also locked, and the key was in the kitchen drawer. Nice try, no banana, back to square one.

Sighing heavily, he dropped onto the step again.

A few minutes later, a second lightbulb sprang to life. The access door on the garden side of the garage was locked, but the remote control main door at the front had a keypad connected to it. He could slink out the gate, punch in the code, open the main door, sneak inside, close the main door, find the knife, open the access door from the inside, then walk to the house and cut the towel free. He would still have to go out into the alley naked, but only for a couple of seconds.

"C'mon, Garrett, what's the worst that can happen?" he said to himself. On second thoughts, maybe he shouldn't ask that question out loud. The universe was already fucking with him enough as it was—he didn't need to go giving it any better ideas.

He pushed himself away from his perch and tiptoed carefully down the path, one hand cupped protectively (and ineffectively) around his family jewels. When he reached the gate, he paused for a moment to listen for signs of movement at the other side. He heard no activity of any kind. He opened the gate just far enough to squeeze himself out, then hugging the wall, sidled around to the front of the garage. He was only glad the keypad wasn't over at the other side.

As he flipped up the pad's protective cover, the universe coughed and intervened. Car headlights came to life, temporarily blinding him and bathing both him and the garage door in light. Somewhere in the gloom, a woman shrieked; a primitive cry of shock and fear.

"Arthur!" the same woman screeched, obviously to a nearby spouse. "Call the police! There's a naked pervert prowling around in the back alley!"

Oh, fuck, _no_. 

It was the middle-aged woman from three doors down—one of the owners of the Box of Sin. Zane huffed. She had a real cheek calling _him_ a pervert, considering what that box had contained. But this was neither the time nor the place to argue that particular point.

Cursing quietly under his breath, he punched in the four-digit code. He might not make it into the house before the boys in blue arrived, but he could at least hide himself in the garage. Once the cops had checked out the alley and moved along, he would resurrect his original plan.

Slowly but surely, the paneled door started to rise. When it was maybe a foot and a half off the ground, it stopped. An acrid smell wafted out from under the gap—a smell that was all too familiar to Zane. The goddamn motor had given out again.

Zane suppressed the urge to scream. This was seriously _not_ fucking happening. Not tonight, not right now, not when he was completely naked and about to be violently tasered in the balls. Squatting, he slid his hands under the door and tugged, trying to raise it a few more feet. It was just as uncooperative as the towel. 

So much for that idea.

He heard movement and voices a few doors down—the outraged neighbours were on the move, and knowing his luck, probably armed to the teeth and searching for someone or something to shoot.

He glanced at the door again. A foot and a half was enough, right? If he lay on the ground, he could shimmy under in no time at all. Except that he was completely nude. And he knew from sometimes helping Ty with the car that the garage floor was as filthy as a prostitute's wedding and as rough as an English badger's balls. His poor butt would never forgive him.

Maybe he could roll under the door instead. It would be quicker, but unless he started the roll from the right position, he would end up rubbing his johnson into the ground as well. Somehow, that didn't seem very fair. Between this morning's exertions, the scalding bath and half an hour in the frigid air, the poor thing had already taken enough of a pounding today.

"Whoever you are, if you're still out there, you should know our son-in-law is a cop, and he's less than thirty seconds away!" shouted an older man, presumably Arthur.

No time for dilly-dally; the shimmying option would have to do.

Zane dropped to the ground and lay on his back, then shuffled under the recalcitrant door as quickly as his butt cheeks and shoulders could carry him.  _Bet you never thought you'd be putting your magnificently tight buns to this kind of use when you signed up with the CIA._

When he was halfway under, the door emitted an alarmingly noisy creak. Zane whimpered in fear and froze. This would be just his rotten goddamn luck, to survive everything from alcoholism and drug abuse to vengeful Miami cartels, only to die in an accident involving a broken garage door. He could see the newspaper headlines now.  _Local Man Dies In Freak Accident! Respectable Bookstore Owner By Day! Prowling, Naked Pervert By Night! Did He Fish? Because You Should See His Tackle! Full Colour 'Spread' Inside!_

Oh, well.It wasn't all bad. At least the people who came to deal with his body would have a chance to check out the view.

After a few seconds, the door gave off no further signs of distress. The butt-powered shuffling resumed.

No sooner had he pulled in his trailing foot than the alley outside was gently bathed in headlights again, this time accompanied by a slow pulse of red and blue. The local constabulary had arrived.

Zane rolled up onto his hip, reached up to grab the lip of the bottom panel, whispered a pleading prayer, then pulled the door down towards the ground as hard and as fast as he could. This time, the door complied.

Thank fuck. One immediate problem solved, one slightly less pressing problem to go.

He took a moment to catch his breath, then hauled himself up from the filthy floor and set about locating the knife. He decided not to switch on the light in case it attracted undue attention, so it took him a few minutes to find the box, tucked away neatly at the back of a shelf. 

As he wrapped his fingers around the knife, he heard someone moving around outside. Uh oh. Had the police moved in for a closer look? But the sound was coming from the garden, not from the alley, and he hadn't heard anyone triggering the latch on the gate. Maybe the light-fingered, asshole squirrel was back for another go.

Knife in hand, he tiptoed up to the access door, gently laid his fingers against it, held his breath and cocked an ear. Was there someone out there, lurking in the dark and cold? Maybe it wasn't the cops or the squirrel. Maybe it was a burglar. Maybe it was another, equally naked, _actual_ pervert.

As quietly and carefully as he could, he turned the button to unlock the door. He grasped the knob, tightened his grip on the knife and silently started a count to three.

He hadn't even made it to two before someone violently kicked in the door and pointed a gun between his eyes. He stumbled back, landing with a heavy thud on the Mustang's perfectly polished hood. The light came on, and there was Ty, scowling and aiming his favourite Glock, obviously ready to shoot first, shoot some more and then maybe once he was out of bullets, ask a few questions later.

The younger man breathed a sigh of relief and pointed his gun at the ground. "Jesus, Zane, I thought you were a burglar. I almost shot you," he said. He noticed his husband's rather unusual sartorial state. "Why the fuck are you completely naked?" he demanded to know. "And why the fuck are you holding a _knife_?"

Zane echoed his husband's sigh. "I would explain, but I'm pretty sure you wouldn't believe me," he said, wincing slightly as he peeled himself away from the car.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess the towel stuck in the back door's yours."

"Yeah, it's mine," Zane advised, throwing the knife onto a nearby shelf. "Don't suppose you wanna nip out and grab it for me?"

Ty snorted. "What, your dainty Texan junk can't survive a fifteen foot walk in the cold?"

"Course it can. But there might be some cops in the neighbourhood, and if you don't mind, I'd rather not give them an excuse to shoot me."

Ty narrowed his eyes. "Zaaaaaane, what the hell did you do?"

"Nothing, I swear! Or at least, nothing I had a choice about. Now quit yakking and go bring me my towel."

Ty nodded, vanished from view and reappeared about ten seconds later, bearing the rescued length of cloth. As he handed it over to Zane, he glanced at his car and frowned. "Lone Star, did you just leave a big, sweaty ass-print on the hood of my car?" he exclaimed, waving his gun at the offending mark, which was indeed shaped like a pert pair of Texan buns.

Zane rolled his eyes. Ty and that goddamn car. "Relax, doll, I'm sure it'll buff out just fine," he said as he wrapped the towel around his waist.

Ty stuck his gun in the back of his jeans. "I'll buff _you_ out if you put your man parts anywhere near my beautiful car again," he muttered. "Don't care what I said when we got married."

"Excuse me, but _whose_ father gave you the beautiful car in the first place?" Zane hotly reminded his spouse. "The night I've had, you're lucky it was only an ass-print."

"Get your butt back in the house," Ty ordered, giving him a huffy glare. "Before I kick it into the goddamn harbour."

For once, Zane did exactly as he was told. Clutching his towel, he jogged up the garden path and legged it through the now unlocked door.

Aah, _heat_. How he and his sensitive, gentleman parts had missed its soothing embrace.

"What the hell are you even doing home at this time, anyway?" he said over his shoulder to Ty, who'd paused to lock the garage door. "Wasn't expecting you to be done until well after eight."

Ty snorted and dropped the garage key in the drawer. "Let's just say Mister-CIA-Agent-Turned-Spy-Thriller-Writer's nowhere _near_ as popular as his publisher thinks."

"Not much of a turnout, then?"

"That's one way of putting it. Sold a handful of books, though, so it wasn't a total waste."

They froze as the doorbell bonged. 

Ty frowned, then gestured for Zane to hide himself out of view. "You stay here," he warned. "Let me deal with this."

Zane stepped behind the kitchen wall; Ty strode to the front to deal with the guest.

The guest turned out to be a cop—no doubt from the car in the alley. "Evening, sir," he said to Ty. "Are you the occupant of the property?" he politely asked.

Ty nodded. "Evening, officer, and yes, I am. What can I do for you?"

"Just wanted to let you know we've received a report of a prowler in the area."

Ty's eyebrows shot up. "A prowler?" he echoed. "You mean like a burglar?"

The cop shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Seems the man in question has taken to _exposing_ himself, of all things. Gave the lady a few doors up a nasty fright about twenty minutes ago. We're trying to track him down, apprehend him before he does it again."

"Jesus, that's awful," Ty proclaimed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Did you get a description?"

The policeman's notebook came out. "White male, late forties to early fifties, shoulder length, black hair, tall and uh, shall we say _very well built_?" he recited, smirking slightly. "Seen anyone around who fits that description?"

Ty pursed his lips and frowned, pretending to rack his brain. "Hmm. Can't say that rings any bells, no," he advised, briefly shaking his head.

The cop sighed. "Well, keep your eyes open, and give us a call if you happen to come across him later."

Back in the kitchen, Zane reached up to smother his snort. If Ty asked him nicely, that could _definitely_ be on the cards…

"I'll be sure to do that, officer," Ty replied. "And I hope you find the filthy bastard. Pervert like that shouldn't be roaming around a nice, family, neighbourhood like this, right?"

The cop barked out a sarcastic laugh. "You took the words right out of my mouth." He waved a farewell. "Thank you for your time, sir. You all stay safe now."

"Yeah, you too, officer," Ty said, then quietly closed the door.

"Lone Star, the _fuck_ have you been doing?" the former Marine all but roared along the house.

Sighing, Zane stepped out from behind the wall and calmly padded towards the stairs. He _really_ needed to find some clothes, and not just because he was freezing cold. "Like I said out in the garage, you won't believe me."

"You're still gonna tell me, though, right?"

"If I must," was Zane's grudging response. "Just let me put some clothes on first."

"Garrett, you _do_ realize you're absolutely filthy?"

Zane blew out an indignant huff. "Oh, come _on_. I was only out in that alley for a couple of seconds. And it was only one person who saw me. A middle-aged, married, _dildo-owning_ person, at that. Not like I jiggled my balls at a bus full of teenage nuns."

"No, babe, I mean you're _literally_ filthy," Ty explained, pointing to Zane's back. "You look like you've been rolling around in the White Marsh dump."

"Right," Zane muttered. He'd forgotten all about that. "Let me go clean up as well, then."

Ty's lips twitched. "Go take a shower, wash away your pervert urges as well as the muck on your back."

"It's a good shower, doll, but it's not _that_ good," the Texan shot back. "And you _like_ my pervert urges, remember?"

Just as Zane reached the top of the stairs, Ty called out to him again. "Hey, babe?"

"What?"

"Maybe you should give the shower a miss."

"Oh?"

"Seeing as you've had such a crappy night, why don't you go for a nice, relaxing bath instead?"


End file.
